Take Five
by capercailiechild
Summary: Syd, Vaughn, and Weiss must infiltrate a drum corps to save a Rambaldi artifact. Pre-Season 4.
1. The Mission

Disclaimer: I don't own Alias. Obviously. Don't sue. I own everyone you don't recognize, plus the amazing plot line. I also claim the Society of the Fifth.

Premise: Thanks to the intel from The Cyclone, Sydney and Vaughn are asked to go undercover… again. This time, they're supposed to recover the chief statistician for The Covenant, who's decided he wants to defect. While they're on their mission, they're also supposed to pick up a Rambaldi artifact, The Puzzle. Where are they going undercover? Well, no place else but a drum corps!

It was Monday morning, and the CIA's agents were reporting back to work. Sydney, toting a bag of Einstein Brothers' Bagels and a Starbucks coffee cup, waved a good morning to Marshall, who was hard at work perfecting a camera hidden in a pair of nail scissors. His i-Pod was cranked up, and Sydney could hear The Vines emanating from the small device.

Dixon was talking animatedly to Jack Bristow, who was tugging at his burgundy-and-gold patterned tie. Jack nodded a good morning to Sydney, but did not interrupt his superior. Dixon clutched several manila folders in his hands, and was pointing out various things to Jack in some of the files.

Weiss and Vaughn were standing near the computer of one of the interns, Jacque. Jacque was showing them his newest design of a 3-D modeling program to decipher and display building coordinates. Weiss looked very into it, but Sydney knew he was not a computer geek at heart. Vaughn looked up and smiled, but Sydney only smiled back.

Dixon finally broke off his conversation with Jack and turned to Sydney. "Good morning," he said. "You and Agents Weiss and Vaughn will be heading out for your next mission. Let's go into the briefing room, shall we?"

He led the way into the briefing room. Weiss followed. Vaughn had gone to snag Marshall from "the cave," and once they were all assembled, Dixon began. "Two weeks ago, Angus Flittman, chief statistician for the Covenant, left this on a safe CIA website."

He hit a button on his computer, and up came a hand-written letter. "He wrote that he wants to defect from the Covenant. He would be most appreciative if we could assist him in his defection."

"How do we know he's serious?" Weiss asked.

Dixon said, "We don't. But reports from the office where Flittman worked recently have lead us to believe that he is serious about defecting."

"Where is he now?"

"At his other job – coaching the Pershing-St. Clair Wizards, it's a drum and bugle corps. That's where we'll find him, as well as the Rambaldi artifact he's managed to sneak out."

"A _drum_ and _bugle_ _corps?"_ Weiss asked.

"That's right, Agent Weiss – Mr. Flittman coaches the corps from the end of April until the July 15th championships. You'll be shadowing him until after the championships, when it would be safe to bring him to a CIA safe house.

"Sydney, you'll be going in as Flittman's new snare player," Dixon continued. "See Dan Gold down in Accounting and he'll teach you everything you need to know.

"Weiss, you will sign on as a roadie. Flittman's constantly in need of roadies because the corps travels every couple of days.

"And Vaughn, you'll be going in as his new second bugle. Seems a player from Idaho was just recalled." Dixon slid file folders towards each of the agents.

"What about the artifact?" Sydney asked, glancing quickly over her folder.

Dixon pulled at his charcoal sport coat, and turned to the computer screen. Another image came up, this one of a large wooden crate. "The Puzzle. Sought by all Rambaldi scholars the world over. It's belonged to the Rambaldi Society in London for the last fifty years – except recently. The Covenant has taken possession of it within the last two months."

"What does it do?" Weiss asked as Dixon clicked to the next slide, this one of a jumble of pieces of hammered metal, all with inscriptions or knotted designs.

"No one is for certain," Dixon answered, clicking to a close-up of one of the pieces. "The Rambaldi scholars at the Rambaldi Society were only a few days away from deciphering its message before it was stolen by the Covenant."

He clicked to the next slide, this one showing a young woman in her mid-twenties wearing a tight-fitting black dress. "This," he said, "is Anya Dombrowski. She's an agent for Flittman's previous known employer, the Society of the Fifth. Like Flittman, she'll do anything to get her hands on The Puzzle, so make sure she's nowhere near when you retrieve the article.

"You'll be leaving for Pershing-St. Clair at 10:00 tomorrow," Dixon concluded. "Marshall?"

"Right, right!" Marshall said, standing up excitedly. "So, ever since I heard you were going into a drum and bugle corps, I was so excited. So here's what I've come up with."

He pulled a paper lunch bag from next to him on the table. "First of all, I have my camera in the nail scissors." He displayed this to the obvious delight of… himself. "And second, for Sydney, some rockin' cool sticks." He pulled out two drumsticks wrapped in metallic blue tape. "These sticks also have a camera in them – in the tips." He pressed gently at the nylon tips, and an image of the briefing room appeared on the screen next to his elbow. He handed those across to Sydney. "Vaughn, I've designed a microphone for your bugle." This was handed over without much of a fuss. Vaughn inspected it as Marshall reached for the next item in his bag of tricks. "Now, Agent Weiss, this was a little more difficult, but I've created dime-sized camera and microphone combinations you can leave on any piece of equipment you can get your hands on."

Weiss appreciatively looked at the bag of cameras Marshall passed him.

"Plus, some lock picks. Really nice ones, the best I've ever made. You know, I always say that, and then I come up with something better. Guess it just proves I'm a genius…" He trailed off. "Anyway, these lock picks are heat sensitive and able to detect infrared camera beams. All the better for breaking into those undisclosed locations."

Sydney smiled reassuringly at him, and he handed her the slim leather case of lock picks.

"Good," Dixon said. "You'll leave tomorrow. Syd, don't forget about stopping in to talk with Dan Gold."

Dan Gold worked in Accounting. He was mid-twenties with a mop of light blond curls, blue eyes hidden behind light brown, oval-framed glasses, and wore black dress pants, a black, white, and blue plaid shirt, and black socks and loafers. "Hey, Syd," he said, smiling. Sydney let him know the informality was not appreciated with a quick glare, but she let it slide. "So, I've heard you're infiltrating a drum and bugle corps." When she looked surprised at his sudden security clearance, he sheepishly continued, "Director Dixon only told me that. Nothing about the name of it. I live for DCI stuff." When she looked confused this time, he finished, "Drum Corps International. You _did_ realize that's what you're going into?"

After Sydney had sat down at his desk, Dan whipped out two pairs of drumsticks. These were slim, tapered, with white wax/nylon tips, and completely smooth, unlike the taped sticks Marshall had offered before. He handed one pair to Sydney. "Okay. So, first you're going to need to know the basic roll. Start like this." He began to tap out a rhythm with the sticks, left-left, right-right, left-left, right-right. After a moment, Sydney followed, left-left, right-right, left-left, right-right. He speeded up the rhythm so his sticks were flying. When Dan did it, it sounded like a roll, smooth and precise. When Sydney attempted the same movement, it sounded… well, unlike a roll.

They practiced for awhile until Sydney could perform the roll just as well as Dan. They went over paradiddles, flams, and basic rhythm notations until Dan was confident that Sydney could execute any drum music given to her at the Pershing-St. Clair corps. "Thanks, Dan," Sydney said as she was leaving.

Dan looked up, blushing. "It's nothing. I'm… I'm glad I could help. Sometimes it gets a little boring, just doing payroll all the time."

"Your help will not be forgotten," Sydney informed him, smiling.

He blushed again. "My mom will be so proud… I was able to teach a CIA agent something!"


	2. First Day

The three agents met up at the car lot the next day. Weiss was carrying their letters of acceptance from Angus Flittman and the other head of the Pershing-St. Clair Wizards, Holly Rosenthal. "We've all been accepted," he told them. "I was told to start today. Apparently the corps heads out tomorrow for a tour of Los Angeles, Victoria Springs, Loveless Lake, and Strasburg."

"Tomorrow? We leave _tomorrow?"_ Sydney asked. "But we don't know the music yet."

"_Au contraire_," Weiss continued, pulling out a sheaf of music. "This is for you, and here's some for Vaughn."

"That's Linus Deming to you," Vaughn responded testily.

"Right, Linus. And here's for… _Emma_," Weiss finished, handing Sydney her music. She began to study it, then looked up.

"And what will you be doing, Joel?"

He smiled, pleased that she had remembered his "name." "Well, as a roadie, I'll be loading drums, musical instruments, and equipment."

"Sounds good."

Vaughn had reached the car they'd been given – a light blue Honda Civic – and unlocked it. "Come on, you two," he called.

They hurried to catch up, stowing their duffel bags in the trunk with Vaughn's bugle and Sydney's stick bag. Vaughn unlocked the car and got into the driver's seat, Sydney in the passenger seat, and Weiss in the back. "What time do you have to report to Flittman?" Vaughn asked.

"Two," Weiss replied. Vaughn calculated; it was just past ten o'clock and the drive to Pershing-St. Clair would take them approximately three hours. They would arrive a little after one, which would be plenty of time to check in at the camp and sign in.

Vaughn drove the first stretch of the journey, which was from Los Angeles to the tiny town of Loveless Lake, where the Wizards would be performing later. Weiss slept and Sydney went over her music. When they stopped, he stretched as he got out of the car, loose and limber in his knee-length black shorts and white T-shirt. "Who wants to drive next?"

"I will," Sydney volunteered, shrugging into a gray Pershing-St. Clair Wizards sweatshirt. Like Vaughn, she wore loose clothing suitable for heavy physical activity – gray yoga pants, a light blue T-shirt, and the sweatshirt. Weiss, on the other hand, had chosen light blue jeans and a Metallica T-shirt straight out of the Metal Age.

The next leg of the journey brought the three to the town of Strasburg. Weiss took over the driving while Sydney and Vaughn studied their music together. They arrived in Pershing-St. Clair at one-thirty. They reached the camp for the drum corps five minutes later, parked the car, and headed for the main building, where they were checked in by a young woman with curly red hair. "Hi!" she greeted them enthusiastically. "I'm Serena Newquist. And you are?"

"Linus Deming, second bugle," Vaughn said.

"Emma Henry, snare," Sydney added.

"And I'm Joel Fielding, new roadie."

"Excellent. Mr. Flittman's been looking for a new roadie ever since Kevin broke his leg."

"That sounds serious."

"No, he just dropped some heavy equipment." She shook her head noncommittally, and handed them each a different sheaf of papers. "You have your music?"

Sydney and Vaughn nodded. On the floor next to them was Vaughn's bugle case and Sydney's drumming equipment.

"Good. The corps is in rehearsal in D-Building right now, and the roadies are down at Tip-Top for their daily meeting." On Weiss's confused look, she explained, "Tip-Top Café. It's the light blue building down the road. And D-Building is right across the courtyard. Is your luggage here?"

"It's in our car," Vaughn answered.

"If you give me your keys, I'll go get it and take it over to the dorms," Serena offered. "I can drop the keys off with Willie."

"Willie?"

"Willie Sorenson. He's the chief conductor for indoor and technical rehearsals. Mr. Flittman's only involved with the choreography. He's probably down at Tip-Top with the roadies, knocking back an Orange Crush." She smiled.

"Sounds great. Here's the keys," Weiss said, handing them to her.

She led them outside, and pointed out D-Building. "That's where we rehearse, eat, and have corps meetings," Serena explained. "Those are the dorms. The roadies sleep down at Rainbow Motel, which is twenty feet down the road."

Vaughn and Sydney nodded appreciatively. Weiss had headed in the other direction, for the Tip-Top Café and his new roadie friends.

Serena left them at the door of D-Building. Vaughn turned to look at Sydney, but she had nothing to say to him. They entered D-Building and could instantly hear the unmistakable sounds of a 200-piece marching ensemble practicing.

"Guess we're in that room," Vaughn said, trying to be chipper.

The room was large, about the size of an industrial-strength meeting hall or ballroom. The floor was pale green tile and the walls were an unobtrusive shade of gray. At the left side was a large fireplace, and to the right were the French doors Sydney and Vaughn had just entered through. People were everywhere. The percussion section was at the back of the room, underneath a landscape painting. In front of them was the brass section. The pit stood to their left. Flag corps was at the farthest end of the room. And they were all standing in front of a man on a carpeted podium.

Willie Sorenson was obviously the man on the podium. Sydney pegged him as mid-forties; he sported a yellow-and-green Hawaiian shirt and khaki Bermuda shorts, as well as battered red Keds. His gray hair stuck up in the heat of the room, and his eyes were wide behind his large glasses. When Sydney and Vaughn entered, he raised his baton suddenly and stopped the corps. "Yes?" he bellowed. "Who are you?"

"I'm Linus Deming, sir, and this is…"

"She can answer for herself!" the man snapped.

"Emma Henry," Sydney answered quickly.

"Ah, yes. The new players. Please, join your sections. Don't hesitate any longer – you're wasting valuable time!"

Vaughn hurried over to where the brass was, unpacking his bugle as he went. Sydney turned and went to the percussion, who were standing at the far end of the large room. The person who was obviously the leader was a stocky person, male, maybe nineteen or twenty in age, with curly brown hair and wide-set brown eyes. "I'm David Kelleher," he introduced himself.

"Emma Henry," Sydney answered.

"Snare, right?" On Sydney's nod, he continued, "There's the extra snare over there, and the fifth harness is here." He handed her a confusing-looking contraption. "Do you have marching sticks?"

Sydney nodded; both Marshall and Dan Gold had contributed their sticks, and she now possessed two pairs of the large, white sticks.

"Good. We tape our sticks in blue, you can probably get some tape from Patrick or Natalie." He nodded as he spoke, picking out two drummers – a male bass drummer with closely cropped blond hair, and a quad-playing female with two long brown braids. "Do it later. Here." He handed her a snare drum she hadn't seen him pick up. Behind them, the ensemble had started to play again. Willie Sorenson was yelling out directions to a recalcitrant bugler.

"Thanks," Sydney said appreciatively. David smiled at her, then picked up his drum and glibly swung the harness onto his broad shoulders. Sydney followed suit after settling her drum carefully onto the harness.

She gasped, not audibly, but close enough. The drum's dead weight was more than she had expected. After a moment, its weight seemed to settle somewhere around her lower stomach, and she concentrated on the music, which she was sharing with another snare player, a teenaged boy with large glasses and a smattering of freckles across his pale face. "I'm Jeremy Foxworth," he whispered as Willie Sorenson stopped the ensemble again.

"Emma Henry."

"All right, drums, let me hear what you've got at measure five," Willie Sorenson requested.

Jeremy pointed out the measure to Sydney with a stick. She smiled gratefully as Willie counted. "One, two, one, two, ready, go."

The sound of the drumline – six snares, three quads, five basses, and five cymbals – was louder to Syd's ears than the rushing of the tides in the ocean. She barely managed to keep track of the measures as they played, first a string of triplets, then a variegated pattern of sixteenth notes and rim shots.

"Good! Good! Stop!" Willie Sorenson yelled over the commotion, tapping his baton and waving his arms.

The drumline came to a halt, and Jeremy was grinning at Sydney. "Loud, isn't it?"

She breathed in a breath she hadn't known she needed. "How did you know?"

"You looked like you'd been hit with a sack of cement," he responded.

Twenty minutes later, after a final rehearsal of the Dave Brubeck piece "Take Five," Willie called rehearsal to a halt. "That's good for today," he informed the corps. "Be on the field at seven for choreography."

Jeremy turned to Sydney. "What did you think?"

"It's marvelous," she answered, her eyes wide. "I've never heard anything like it."

"Except back at home, right? In high school?" he questioned, taking off his snare and setting it gently in its case. The harness he removed separately.

"Right," she replied, doing the same with her drum.

David stepped to the front of the line. "All right, guys, let's introduce ourselves to our newest member. This is Emma Henry, from…"

"Pittsboro," Sydney answered. Their cover story called for both her and Vaughn to be from Pittsboro; Weiss was from neighboring Atamalta.

"Pittsboro. You already know me, David Kelleher, and Jeremy Foxworth."

The next snare player next to Jeremy was Mariah Ruiz. She was shorter than Jeremy, with caramel-colored skin and shoulder-length brown hair bound into a braid. Blake Thompson stood next to Mariah. He was tall and gawky, with pale blue eyes and a shifty look. The final snare drummer was Haley Pierce. She had curly reddish hair and piercing hazel eyes, but smiled at Sydney.

"Moving onto the bass line – Patrick, start us out," David requested.

"Yo, I'm Patrick Metz," the boy said. He had short blond hair and wore tinted sunglasses propped on his head.

"Dillon Marshall," the next bass player said, yawning. He wore his shoulder length dark blond hair back in a ponytail.

"Tara Frost," the third bass player called. Her black hair was pulled up into two buns on her head, and she had a friendly, likable smile.

The fourth bass player was Jeremiah Douglas, a short boy wearing cutoffs and a Twisted Sister shirt. He had a friendly smile as well, and his head was shaved.

"And last but not least," Jeremiah said, smiling at the fifth bass player, a strong-looking, broad-shouldered girl who wore her light blond hair in two braids.

"Isabella Vassar," she said, smiling icily at Sydney. "Pleased to meet you."

"Onto quads," David said, seemingly not noticing Isabella's unfriendliness. "Our head quad player is Darius Michaud, but he was called out to attend his grandmother's funeral today." He motioned to the next drummer.

"I'm Maxwell Clark," the drummer said. He had the look of old money, someone whose family had power and prestige. He was dressed simply, in knee-length khaki shorts and an Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt, but his brown hair was neatly combed and his round glasses looked expensive. His smile was friendly, however, and he looked genuinely pleased to be in the corps.

"Natalie Birchmont," the only female quad player said, introducing herself. She had waist-length brown hair, pulled back into two braids. Like Maxwell, she looked genuinely excited about being in the corps, and possibly about being alive.

The third quads player looked up from where he was taping a loose end of his mallet. "Zachary Peru," he said, stepping forward to shake Sydney's hand.

There was nothing threatening about Zachary Peru, but the simple gesture of hand-shaking made Sydney a bit uneasy. _He has nothing to hide_, she chided herself. _They know nothing about Angus Flittman's Covenant ties_. "Pleased to meet you," she answered.

"Okay, guys, pack it up, have a good break. Dinner's at five-thirty tonight, and then rehearsal starts at seven," David informed the rest of the line. He turned to Sydney, smiling. "Aren't they great?"

She had to agree. The Wizards' drummers seemed like some of the nicest people she'd met lately. "Yes."

"Do you like your dorm?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, I haven't been there yet. Serena took our bags over there. Mine and Linus's."

"Oh, you're friends with him?"

"Yeah, we're both from Pittsboro." She smiled in a way she found much too silly. "We've been dating since sophomore year."

"I'll walk you over to the dorms," he said, setting her snare case on top of his. "And then I'll show you the dining room."

They walked out of D-Building together, and David led the way to the dormitories. "That's Peach, the girls' dorm, and Apple, the guys'."

"Clever names," Sydney remarked.

They stopped at the door to Peach, and David leaned in to talk to the middle-aged woman sitting just inside the foyer. "This is Emma Henry, Allyson," he said. "What floor is she on?"

The woman looked up from the romance novel she was reading and leaned forward, grasping a ledger covered in faux blue leather. "Let's check, shall we?" she said, flipping it open. "Henry, Henry… you're on Douglas Floor, that's the second floor, in Cherry Room."

"Who's her roommates?" David asked, grinning.

"Uhh… Stevenson, Keppler, and Birchmont," Allyson replied.

"They're a good group, Emma," David said, still smiling. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Okay," Sydney said, a little confusedly. "Bye!"

He left, waving, and Sydney headed up the steps to Douglas Floor.

Cherry Room was the fourth room on the left. Sydney knocked tentatively, and heard a brusque "Come in!" from inside. She entered and was faced with Natalie Birchmont and two other girls. "Emma, right?" Natalie said. "Chelsey, Maya, this is Emma. She's our new snare."

The freckle-faced girl with unruly brown curls smiled. "Chelsey Keppler. Glad to see some fresh faces around here."

"Maya Stevenson," the other girl said. She had ivory skin, black hair bound into a braid around her head, and bright green eyes.

"They're both bugles," Natalie informed Sydney.

Sydney was attempting to place the second girl, Maya. She looked so familiar… _Anya Dombrowski! What is she doing here?_ Sydney thought suddenly. That was where she had seen the girl – in the photo Dixon had shown them.


	3. Practice, Practice, Practice

"Linus! Hey!" Sydney called.

Vaughn whipped around, smiling when he found her. "Hey! How's it going?"

"Good. Hey, listen, I've got something to tell you," she began, but before she could tell him the news, two people stepped towards the front of the room.

The first was a woman, slim and petite with dark eyes and light brown hair, wearing a blue-and-white Wizards T-shirt and denim shorts. The second was a man, dressed in the same "uniform," with blue eyes and a mop of dark hair. "Angus Flittman and Holly Rosenthal," Vaughn whispered in Sydney's ear.

Angus Flittman raised his arms and the entire ensemble fell silent. "Thank you!" he said. He had a broad Scottish accent and a ready smile. "I'd just like to let everyone know that our tour of Los Angeles, Victoria Springs, Loveless Lake, and Strasburg will start bright and early tomorrow morning – at 5 a.m." Over the groans of the corps, he continued, "So we'll need to work _extra_ hard at choreography rehearsal tonight! That's all I have to say. Holly?"

"Nothing else," the woman said with a smile. "Let's eat!"

The corps filed into a small hallway to pick up trays, then turned left into the kitchen. "What did you want to tell me?" Vaughn asked.

"I'll tell you later," Syd replied, noticing the arrival of Natalie, Chelsey, and Maya.

The few buglers in front of them moved swiftly along the line, picking up their macaroni and cheese, green beans, Jell-O, and milk cartons. "I feel like we're at summer camp," Vaughn whispered to Sydney as he grabbed a fork and knife.

"Hey, Linus! Emma! Over here!"

"Who's that, and why does he know my name?" Sydney demanded, staring at the man who had just called their names.

Vaughn was smiling, to her utter amazement. He led her over to a table filled with people of both sexes, and claimed two empty chairs directly in front of a red-headed guy with a wide, grinning smile. "Emma Henry, this is Arlington Monroe. From Patagonia."

"That's near Pittsboro," Sydney said, proud that she had remembered her basic geography.

"Right you are, lovely lady. Gracious, Linus. You told me she was pretty, but not _this_ pretty," Arlington said, grinning at both of them. With obvious delight and relish, he dug into his institution-style macaroni and cheese.

"What did you want to tell me?"

"_Later_," Sydney whispered impatiently. "It's… you know…"

"Oh." He got the message, and was quiet.

After dinner, the corps headed out onto the choreography field. "Have you learned any drill at all?" David asked Syd.

"No." She shook her head.

"But you know basic roll-stepping marching style?"

She nodded, figuring that was the best thing to do.

"Good. Then you should have no problem. Just stay close to Jeremy, and do whatever he does. He'll help you out in the drum feature as well."

Angus Flittman, Holly Rosenthal, and Willie Sorenson, along with a shaved-bald man Sydney hadn't met yet, stood on a podium at the far side of the field. "That's Ian Omes," Jeremy informed Sydney.

"Oh."

"Another choreographer," he continued. "You'll want to stay as far away from Ian as you can. He's a bit of a loose wire, prone to blowing up on anyone who gets in his way." He gave her a wry smile.

On the podium, Angus was raising his hands. "All right, kids, let's start with basics and a few sequences, and then we'll do a final drill rehearsal."

Three other people had also stepped to the front of the field. "Those are our drum majors," Jeremy said, pointing to each of them in turn. "Meg Rakowsky, Evan Scots, and Dan Waterfield."

Dan Waterfield clapped his hands together. "Corps, ten-hut!" he yelled.

"Hut!" the rest of the corps yelled, standing at attention immediately.

Sydney glanced at Jeremy and copied his position. His heels were together, his toes apart. His shoulders were back and his chin was lifted high. She stood that way, too, feeling the snare settle gently around her stomach.

Dan was clapping his hands again. "Forward, march."

The corps marched several steps, each member counting out loud. Sydney quickly realized that each odd beat – one and three – fell on her left foot, and each even beat – two and four – fell on her right. Jeremy, to her left, rolled each foot through, starting with his heel, his toes pointed sky-high.

"Toes up, guys! Kick the sky!" Evan yelled.

Sydney adjusted her feet to step as Jeremy did, toes pointed high, heels rolling gently. "You're doing great," Jeremy whispered out of the side of his mouth.

Syd smiled in spite of herself.

Drill rehearsal seemed to be the toughest thing the corps did. Syd stood next to Jeremy, who held onto her harness and pulled or pushed her as he saw fit. The corps counted out the number of steps in each "set," or group of movements, before going onto the next. Then, once they were done counting the set, they marched all of the sets together, counting out loud. Finally, they marched and played together.

Once the first song, Dave Brubeck's "Take Five," had been marched and played twice by the corps, Dan Waterfield called for a "Corps, at ease!"

Jeremy turned, smiling proudly, to Sydney. "That means take a break in drum corps speak," he interpreted. "You want some water?"  
"Sure," Sydney agreed, seeing Vaughn standing near another bugle player.

They met up at the water cooler, a large orange plastic jug, and took water bottles from Meg Rakowsky. "What'd you want to tell me?" he asked in a quiet voice as they shuffled away from the water stand.

"Nothing," Sydney responded, pressing a button on her watch. "This will give us sixty seconds of interference-free time, and it scrambles our conversation to everyone else."

"Okay," Vaughn said, nodding.

"Anya Dombrowski is here," Sydney related, staring towards where Chelsey and Maya were talking with Natalie. "She's posing as a bugle player named Maya Stevenson." She nodded towards Maya.

"Wow," Vaughn murmured. "That was fast."

Sydney's watch beeped, and she pressed the button again. "Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," he agreed.

The watch's second hand hit the 12, and the two spies were back once again in the middle of colorful discussions about a world they did not understand.

Marching rehearsal ended at nine-thirty. Sydney and Vaughn walked back towards the dormitories together. Vaughn carried his bugle case; Sydney hefted her snare case and harness. They didn't speak, there was really nothing they could say. Marching rehearsal had taken the spunk out of both of them. The other two songs, "In the Mood" and "The Puffy Taco," had taken them the rest of the rehearsal to perfect.

Once they reached the girls' dormitory, Sydney said, "I'll meet you at the corner of the Tip-Top Café at one-thirty. We've got to find a way to talk to Angus Flittman without Anya noticing."


	4. A Discussion With Angus

Angus Flittman was at the Tip-Top Café when the two spies arrived. He was slugging down Orange Crush like there was no tomorrow, and he had pulled a soft-looking brown tweed cap over his head. He smiled pleasantly as they entered. Two other roadies were playing pool near the back of the café, but neither of them looked at Sydney or Vaughn. Neither of them was Weiss. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Flittman, is there somewhere we can talk?" Vaughn asked, taking the lead.

Angus looked confused. "Sure," he said. "Come with me."

He led them through the café and into the kitchen, which was well-stocked and completely empty. "What's going on?" he asked. "Something wrong in the corps?"

"No sir," Sydney said. "We're here to talk to you about defecting from the Covenant."

"Oh," said Angus, a look of recognition appearing in his deep brown eyes. "I see."

"We'd like to arrange for extraction ASAP," Vaughn said. "An agent from the Society of Fifth is here, Anya Dombrowski. It would be to your advantage if she did not manage to steal The Puzzle."  
"Of course it would," Angus said. "The Society of the Fifth has done nothing more than run after The Puzzle for twenty years, and now you say they've got someone here?"

Vaughn nodded. "Yes. Anya Dombrowski, apparently a top agent for the Society of the Fifth, is posing as a bugle player named Maya Stevenson. That's why it is important to extract you as soon as possible."

"Can't," Angus said, shrugging. "I've got a duty to the drum and bugle corps. Once the tour's over, it'll be a different matter, but I can't do anything before that."

Sydney looked at Vaughn. "All right, but we'd like to arrange for extraction of The Puzzle right now."

"The Puzzle's safe," Angus laughed confidently. "The Society of the Fifth will never find it."

"As true as that may be, we don't want to take any chances."

"They won't find it," Angus repeated. "I'll only be able to retrieve The Puzzle after I'm extracted. Which, as I've told you, won't occur until after the tour."

"Mr. Flittman, you are taking your security into your own hands, which is something I'm not sure I like," Vaughn said. "We'd like to arrange for possible extraction tomorrow."  
"No can do," Angus said, smiling. "We leave at five-thirty. You two had better be on the buses, too, or that agent from the Society of the Fifth will know something's up."

"Are you serious?" Vaughn asked.

"I've never been more serious, Agent…"

"Shh!" Sydney cautioned him. "We don't want the Society of the Fifth to get word that _we're_ here."

"Ah. Understandable. But I've never been more serious. The tour must be completed. The corps needs me. And that's all I have to say on the matter."

The two spies left the Café. "Crap," Vaughn said. "You know what that means."

In the darkness, Sydney was half-smiling. "I sure do."

"It means we have to march."  
"Darn right it does."


	5. Getting Ready for Strasburg

The next morning at four-thirty Sydney leapt out of bed and threw on yoga pants, a Wizards T-shirt, and shoes and socks. She pulled up her hair, grabbed her suitcase, and ran down the stairs, out into the freezing cold morning to the uniform hall, which was located in D-Building. Smiling, she saw Vaughn was at the far end of the cluttered hall, standing next to a gray-haired woman with a tape measure around her neck.

"Katie Bixby," Vaughn murmured to her as she approached.

"You're new too?" Katie asked. "I don't know where Mr. Flittman pulled you out of, but you'll certainly need a uniform. You, young man! Try on those pants – number 67! And take jacket number 12."

Vaughn moved hurriedly to do as she asked, grabbing a pair of black overall-style pants off a rack to her left and a blue and silver jacket from the rack on her right. He ducked out of the hall and into a partitioned-off dressing room to the right. "And now you," Katie murmured. "Let's see. You look as though you could fit into Moira's old uniform. Pants – number 108! And jacket, let's see, 51."

Sydney grabbed the clothes and hurried into a cordoned-off area, pulling the pink curtain closed across the opening. She pulled on the overalls and threw the jacket over top of it. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she began to laugh. The pants came to the tops of her feet, and were not at all stylish. The blue jacket had a wide stripe of silver diagonally across the chest and bright silver buttons marching – pardon the pun – down its front.

"Does it fit?" Katie's voice asked from the other side of the curtain.

"I think so!" Sydney replied.

"Let me see," the uniform coordinator requested.

Sydney stepped out, and came face-to-face with Vaughn, who had just stepped out of his own dressing room. Both of them looked ridiculous, but neither said anything. The grins on their faces were proof enough.

"These look fine," Katie said. "Hurry, I'll pack them up and then you can go load the buses."

She did as she promised, zipping their respective uniforms into blue-and-silver garment bags. They hurried from the uniform hall back out into the cold morning. Sydney immediately saw David Kelleher standing outside the second bus. "Is this our bus?" she asked.

"Right you are, Emma. We already loaded the drums onto the truck, so don't worry about that," he said. "Put your uniform and your suitcase under the bus and let's get this show on the road."

Sydney did as she was told, loading her luggage into the bus's luggage compartment and scrambling aboard to find a seat next to Natalie Birchmont. "Hey!" the quads player greeted her.

"Good morning!" Sydney said, shivering.

"Are you ready?" Natalie asked.

"I hope so!" Sydney said.

The buses pulled out of the parking lot twenty minutes later, exactly at five-thirty. They were on their way. The buses droves south, towards Strasburg. The drumline members chattered eagerly as the buses wound their way towards the small town of Strasburg. They arrived at nine-fifteen, and piled out into the parking lot of the Strasburg Municipal Amphitheater. "All right!" someone was yelling. Sydney saw that it was Angus Flittman. "Dressing rooms for the girls are over there, to my left!" He pointed. "Dressing rooms for the guys are to my right! Get dressed and meet back here in twenty minutes!"

Sydney grabbed her uniform bag and ran for the dressing rooms. They were immediately filled with all of the female members of the Wizards. Sydney claimed a corner for herself and threw on her uniform.

The Wizards met back up in the parking lot. David Kelleher grabbed Sydney by the arm and led her to a large truck she hadn't noticed before. "Grab your drum," he instructed. "Your name's in tape on the case."

She did as she was told, noticing Jeremy Foxworth standing next to her. "We're really doing this, huh?" she asked. "We're really marching?"

Jeremy nodded seriously. "You better believe we are."

Sydney pulled on the harness. "Well," she said, "I guess I'm ready. Let's go."


End file.
